I am Gay for her.

She talks about her boyfriend and I listen. I would prefer that she shut the Hell up about Him and kiss me hard on my face. Rolling and Tumbling follows thereafter.

But she doesn't know that I want to do that with her.

She thinks I am her "pal". And that I want to hear about him and what they do and how she feels about it. And how muuuuuuuuuuch she loooooooooooooves this .... guy!

And because I like her, And I want to be near her, I become her gay friend.

I talk about restaurants where they would want to eat dinner and movie dramas that we both really want to see and when she shows me pictures of them together on a recent vacation, that CLEARLY mean a lot to her, I rave about them.

"He looks so handsome!"

"You two look so happy together. What beach is this again?!?"

"He has a devilish smile. Good teeth."

And I hate myself for it. I am playing the part, because she can't see me any other way. And she genuinely likes to be with me. I think she enjoys the attention. In a sort of neutral, non-sexual, non-romantic, non-anything sort of way.

And so I catch myself being gay for her. Or effeminate, non-threatening and supportive. The sweet, adoring gal-pal. Mr. Iwanttolisten.

What I really want to do is throw her down on the grassy hillock, stand over her like John Wayne and say, "Baby, forget that other schmoe! Prepare yourself for the lovemaking of your lifetime. I'm about to open some doors for you" and jump down on her like some sort of sexual, ballistic missile, exploding into a sweaty, spasmodic convulsion of mutual negotiation, conquest and inevitable satisfaction.

Everything else, until I do this, is a futile dog and pony show.

Well, that cinches it. I can't ever show her this blog. I don't see too many beach vacation photos. She will recognize herself in this entry, immediately. And then she will avoid me and my ballistic missile.

So, I will stay gay for her.

If he proposes, though, I'm out altogether. Period. End of discussion, OUT!

Gaying it up,
COB